No foreign policy—no matter how ingenious—has any chance of success if it is born in the minds of a few and carried in the hearts of none.What does that mean? It gives us two options: either leave Iraq now or work harder on the propaganda.
I've never worked in an amusement park, never was a scientist, never was a porn star or a model, never was an athlete, never was a politician, never led a group of hikers up the mountains of Nepal, and I never will.
Knowing there’s no escape from the human condition and the inherent need for relevance, I might as well embrace it. I might as well offer some truisms (and none of that “in my opinion” business; these are irrefutable facts):
The best opening song in an album is “What’s Going On.”
The best movie is Groundhog Day. If you disagree write your own blog.
The most beautiful thing in the world is an honest smile.
The Soft Bulletin is the best album.
I saw the Stone Roses in Wembly Arena, in what was their finest hour.
Tucking a shirt in is essential.
Bill Hicks was funny. Shame he's dead.
I imagine myself with Junior on my knee. I pat his hair and smile. “No,” I will say. “Olive oil may be better for your health, but when it comes to taste, an omelet is much better with vegetable oil. It’s cheaper, too.”
I’m asking you in good faith because it’s on people’s minds, sir.Honestly, I'm not saying Keith Olbermann's Countdown is the only place for Democrats, but let's make a goddamn stand here and leave Fox News for those who still think--and will continue to do so no matter how much proof discredits this--that Saddam was responsible for 9/11. by the way, these are the same people who don't believe in evolution.
I want to discover all the great music out there. I want to read all the great books. And I want to write better music and better books. But maybe more than that, I want to be asked my opinion about these things. I want Jon Stewart to try to understand my world view in five minutes. Sure, a longer interview would be nice, maybe Fresh Air on NPR, or In the Actor Studio. Why not? He had Martin Lawrence so I guess anything goes.
At first, I will get to talk about my book and about the reasons for writing, and about the struggle to publish, and about my doubts, and of course about my future projects. The interview can go anywhere, though. At any point I might make a political statement and the interview will go in an unexpected direction. Really? You think the President should be impeached? You think illegal immigrants are modern-day slaves? You think the two-party system alienates voters? My, oh, my. How could we have lived without these second-hand opinions?
We all want to matter in our all-too-human way. Even the Dalai Lama wants to be recognized. Why else would he sign all his books with the prefix “His Holiness”?
When I lived in London, I used to get mad at my roommate for eating my cereal. Oh, I knew better, but I couldn’t help myself. Knowing it was wrong of me to get angry, I would wake up in the morning, after he had already left for work, and I’d notice the box wasn’t placed in the exact same spot I left it the day before. It wasn’t money, or the fear of running out of cereal or anything semi-logical as that. I simply let my ego take control of me. I was mad because I wasn’t asked; was not given the opportunity to sit in my royal chair and be the benevolent roommate that says, “Of course you can take some of my cereal. What’s mine is yours.”
Then one night we went to a club. We were each wondering the club by ourselves for a while when I saw him sitting on the stairs next to an Irish guy. I wasn’t close enough to hear what that man was saying, but he seemed to take the conversation very seriously, lifting his finger and moving it decisively. He was having the most important conversation of his life. Sitting next to him, my roommate was laughing himself to tears. He gestured for me to come closer and said, “I don’t understand a word he’s saying. He’s been talking to me for an hour.”
Some time later, it was just the two of us again. Two friends in an unknown territory. Lewis and Clarke. And I felt ashamed of myself for the way I had felt before. There were real moments in life, like sitting in a club with my best friend, and there were fake moments and emotions, like worrying about cereals. Things started to make sense.
The next morning. . . . Is there even a point in writing what followed? It's unbearably clear and predetermined, isn’t it? Human, all too human. I mean, is there anything better after a long night of partying than eating an overflowing bowl of cereal? I hated him as my ego resurfaced. That bastard finished my cereal. And you know what? It wasn’t the cereal; it was the principal.
Whenever you talk about a principal to justify your feelings you can be sure that in this battle the Devil has won.